To Hire a Smuggler: Part two
Beeeeee-ooop. Beeeeee-ooop. The holo-terminal's incoming transmission light blinks steadily as its audible tone emanates from the machine. "Mmmmmngh," Groans the human on the receiving end of the incoming call. Lifting her head from her arms, Ambrosia swivels away from the conference table and leans forward to contemplate the next round of Beeeee-ooops. A sigh, a headshake, and rapid swiping of her hands over her hair (presently pulled into a loose knot against her nape) the Ambassador spends a thoughtful three seconds of grooming the sleep away before punching the receiver with her index finger. Wishing she then hadn't punched it so hard, she massages the jam out of it while biting the inside of her cheek and staring hard into the pulsing light that so graciously begins filming/projecting her haggard self into space and beyond. "Ambassador Ad-Delgard...at your service." "Is this a bad time?" the image that appears is a hazy translucent shape of a tall Rattataki woman dressed in a flamboyant Wroonian style and festooned with jewellery. All colour washed out in favour of the blue-white holomatrix she stands with her hands folded behind her back, the six inch high projection looking up toward Ambrosia. Her coarse voice carries a thick accent, though it is difficult to place and the static lends it an ever greater crackling quality. Vane The woman stands six feet tall with a powerful muscular build. Her chalky-white skin accented by a thick dark stripe across her glossy silver eyes that wraps around the sides of her completely smooth head as it fades out. Angular features lend her lips an exaggerated fullness, painted in the same nightshade black. A sleeveless leather vest in carmine leather tightly laced over a loose black blouse sharply draws in her waist and bust, thrusting a generous cleavage upward from an eye-catching pillar of gold trim and into a frame of black lapels and a plunging leather gorget. Form fitting pants hug the musculature of her thighs and tucked into slender boots that rise to the knee with short, flared cuffs while black over-elbow gloves provide the backing for a pair of grey plastoid vambraces. Over it all, she wears a short-sleeved high collared greatcoat in the same scheme; carmine leather trimmed in gold and reinforced by grey plasteel pauldrons and spaulders. "No time like the present," Ambro musters a small smile and tips her head in study of the figure. "How is it I can be of service, Miss....?" Straightening her posture a touch and rubbing a bothersome lash from her eye, she makes an effort to project *some* degree of proper decorum, circumstances be damned. "Captain." One hand emerges from behind Vane to raise a stipulating finger. "Captain Shiari Vane..." her tone lightens a little, the accent rolling her consonants and clipping her vowels. "At your service, I suppose..." the finger begins pointing, wagging even, indicatively in Ambrosia's direction. "I am given to understand that you are in need of capable captains with a certain talent for avoiding armed authorities." "Ah...so Captain Andromidas did manage to spread some word, did he?" Relaxing a tad against the back of her chair, Ambrosia extends a hand towards the terminal. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Captain Vane. Just so happens we /are/ in the market for sly flyers. Are you aware of the situation?" Voice low with a touch of sadness, she glances over her shoulder, presumably at some sudden noise in the background. "Yes, yes..." Vane's tone once again a low, rumbling growl before it rises in a swell of exuberance "...Imperial blockades, unrest, starvation!" and then back down to a disapproving murmur accompanied by a slow shaking of her head. "Terrible. terrible." she shifts her weight to one foot, neck craning in the direction of Ambrosia's glance - for all the good it would do. A smaller head of hair, seemingly darker than her own, bobs into view behind Ambrosia's shoulder. The Ambassador quickly pivots back around, sheltering the little figure with an arm and gesturing quite meaningfully with the other one for her to leave. Hushed murmurs usher the child out of the room, then she turns full attention back on Vane. "Quite terrible. I can only hope that the Sarians are feeling inspired enough to organize an appropriate response to the Invasion of their system. Until action is taken planetside, however...the problem remains, that rations will run thin. The cold weather and frosty precipitation make crop growing a mite difficult, as you can imagine." Rattataki don't have eyebrows, but the skin where they would be does rise slightly on one side, a not entirely comforting smile curling to Vane's lips. "Sweet child..." she remarks off-handedly "...but yes. Bad for Caspar, but good for business!" the end of her sentence rising in both volume and pitch as her pointing finger curls into a clenching fist that swipes back toward her chest in a sweeping-come-raking motion. "So, Mistress Ambassador - what do you need moving and how much are you willing to pay..?" "Basic humanitarian aid supplies, mostly..." Ambrosia answers, tone somber and eyes locked sharply onto the questionable character gesticulating about on the shimmering pad. "Food, water, medical. Depending upon what the Navy chooses to spare our Caspian friends, there may be weapons, ammunition. In a rare event, personnel. Which of these items you are willing to smuggle on board your vessel is entirely your choice, of course, as is the number of runs performed." Pausing to let that sink in, she tucks a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. "The offer is this: Thirty-five thousand standard cred up front, as a token of my personal gratitude, to assist you in preparing your ship and crew. For each run you perform, the Republic will pay a varying rate: three to five thousand, depending upon the cargo and associated risk level. Each run will come with its own set of instructions prior to launch, dictating where to pick up the deliverable goods, and a status report regarding ground level security and potential touch-down points planet-side. In and out missions, basically. You land, we unload, you leave. Evasion of the blockade, unfortunately, is entirely your burden. However..." lips finally crooking into something akin to a wry smile, she threads her fingers together. "I have a feeling that your enthusiasm for this sort of dire situation and almost certain pride in your work makes you more than capable for this task. Am I wrong?" Vane's hand rises to stroke along the line of her jaw, long fingers drawing down to her chin as she rumbles in thought. "My paymaster is..." a look off to one side, and a wry smirk. "...indisposed, at the moment. But were she here, I am certain she would ask if there is not a rate per tonne? Ordinarily of course, I /would/ charge on the basis of just what it is I am being asked to carry - rewards commiserate with risk, eh? Buuut..." she leans forward a little, menacing smile spreading and fingers rubbing together in the intergalactic non-verbal gesture for 'money' "...when you're running a blockade, they don't care what you're carrying. I must ask for double for each run." she insists, drawing herself back up to full height and hands returning to the small of her back, coat spreading to reveal a vibrosword and blaster pistol worn at her hips. "Or the risk to my ship and my crew is simply too great for the prize." "When you're running a blockade, the tonne is also irrelevant," the Ambassador replies matter-of-factly, lids drooping to half mast in a nonplussed stare. "The Imperial Navy won't care how much of anything they are troubled to confiscate...or how many creds stuff the pockets of its crew. But..." Word annunciated with a touch too much precision, she leans back in her chair and props her boots up on the terminal's front panel, elbows bracing back on the tabletop to reveal a pair of blasters. "One can't spare too many expenses in the protection of their brood, can they? I will speak with my Naval contacts and discuss alterations to their budget." Catching her lower lip between teeth, she squints forward between the frame of her feet. "Is...this a suitable terminal number to contact you?" "I understand, of course." Vane nods approvingly, her hand rising to brush her fingers in a 'scurry along' gesture toward the Ambassador. "Talk to your people...err..." she looks down, then left, then right, then over her shoulder. "Probably not. If you're tracing this call, its bouncing off half a dozen systems across the outer rim. Can /never/ be too careful, you know?" she nods to someone just out of 'camera' view and waves them off. "I'll be in touch, madame Ambassador." "See that you do," Ambrosia replies, smile thinning. "My location within the embassy here is no secret, so...line's always open. First come, first serve." Lifting a couple fingers in casual salute, she swings her feet free of their perch and leans close to disconnect. *FZZZT*